Roses Upon the Stage
by Czar Ashurri
Summary: Tony is a rising tenor and dancer at the Opera Populaire, fighting the star Clint Barton for the lead. His mysterious teacher seems to have developed an interest in him, and his childhood sweetheart seems worried. Shouldn't he be as well? Slash. Frostiron. Superhusbands.


Captain Steven Rogers coughed as the aid led him through the old opera house. It was as decrepit and ragged as he supposed he appeared. They rested for a moment against a banister—Steve ran his hand across it—that formally held so much luster. The opera house was falling apart, like her cast, like her managers, like her former patron. So much time and money he had spent on a beautiful tomb only to let it fall into disrepair at the height of its glory.

"We will be late, Captain," the aid warned him as she grabbed his arm to pull him towards their target. The city's restoration committee was holding a public auction to gain funds to rebuild the L'Opera Populaire. There was a certain object that he had hoped they had found, a trinket of his late lover. The man's eyes stung as he thought of his dead husband. They had been together for thirty years when the shorter man's life seemed to slowly fade.

"Lot 664: a poster from the 2010 production of Rent, featuring Clint Barton as Angel."

It seemed the bidding had started without them so the aid tugged the captain's arm faster, effectively pulling the wheezing man behind him. He did his best to cover the hacking coughs as they stopped and the aid moved away to find chairs. One was placed under him, and he sank into it gratefully as he continued to spasm. The disease that stripped him of his husband years ago was now gripping him, and though he tried to fight it, Steve knew he didn't have much time left.

The poster was sold to an unassuming man. A collector, Steve guessed upon his youth and appearance. He looked away; the man was of no consequence and would not disturb the captain on his quest. Yet _she_ would.

Across the room was a wizened but familiar face. The brilliant copper of her hair had dulled and faded, leaving yellow and white and silver in its place. The many lines and bags and wrinkles, so many things _he_ never had the chance to have, did nothing to lessen her timeless beauty. She caught his eye, hers widening, surprised. Whether it was that he made it out of his sickbed or came at all, he didn't know, but he gave her a polite nod, nearly missing the next call.

"Lot 665: a mechanical device found in the vaults. It is said to belong to one of the dancers, a medical magnet to be worn in the chest." The auctioneer introduced the strange object with flair, waving his hands about as he spoke as if to give the unique object more of an air of mystery that it easily had on it's own.

"It is still in working order, as seen here," the attendant holding the device announce. He tapped it, setting an inner blue light aflame, slight whirring could be heard echoing in the room.

"Bidding begins at fifty dollars."

_Much too low,_ Steve thought as the collector automatically jumped in. He raised his hand.

"Sixty, thank you sir," the auctioneer noted. "Sixty-five for Mistress Potts." Steve half-heartedly glared at his lover's old friend, raising his hand with a vengeance. "Seventy. Is there a seventy-five?"

Pepper seemed to look him over, judge his need for the circular reactor. She must have seen something in him that she still approve of for she shook her head to the auctioneer.

"Seventy-five going once. Twice. Sold to Captain America. Thank you, captain."

Steve didn't care for his thanks as he took the arc reactor from the attendant and examined it. _Just as he said._ The metal was freezing still. Like the vaults and the caverns underneath the opera house were. Like the monster was. The face was cracked from where his lover had tripped on wet stone steps. He fought the urge to kiss it like he did its replacement so many times. The device whirred and shined in his hands, illuminating the tears on his cheeks. _I hope you outlive us all,_ he thought to the reactor. _I hope you shine this bright when we are all forgotten._

"Lot 666: a chandelier. For those who still remember," the auctioneer began, nearly speaking directly to Steve and Pepper, "this is the very chandelier which caused the famed incident…"

Any further comment was drowned away from Steve's mind as the cover was removed from the said fixture. It was suddenly relit by technology, glowing like a jewel in that building of desperation. His breath caught in his throat as the attendants began to hoist the light upwards, to its rightful resting place. The entire theatre seemed alive again already. The red velvet seats, though faded and moth bitten, had an air of pristine value. The rotting stage was given new life in the glow. Ghosts of dancers, musicians, patrons, love seemed to appear before Steve, drawing him back to his first night as patron of the Opera Populaire.

"Tony," he whispered, drowning in the sea of smiles in his mind.

**So cheesy opening is cheesy. This is my new series. I personally hate writing crossovers but this was just calling me. Read, Review, Don't kill me. Full warnings next chapter.**


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